


Under the Influence: A Salutory Tale

by ausmac



Series: The Master on the Tardis [1]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-07
Updated: 2011-05-07
Packaged: 2017-10-19 03:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausmac/pseuds/ausmac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Master tries out the only alcoholic beverage that can affect a Time Lord, with the appropriate results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Influence: A Salutory Tale

Time Lords didn't get drunk. It just didn't happen. It was like a rule of the cosmos, like how black holes sucked and pulsars pulsed.

It was also in the chemistry. Their bodies were very efficient at taking and processing alcohol molecules and turning them into harmless substances before the effects got anywhere near a Time Lord's brain.

Unless you were the Master, who didn't care much for cosmic rules, and you got hold of a bottle of Absinthe with the idea of, firstly, testing the theory and, secondly, going where few Time Lords had gone before. In more ways than one - because of all the drinks in the universe, the beverage made from Artemisia absinthium, Grand Wormwood, was the one alcohol that made a Time Lord drunk.

Not just drunk, but totally legless. One glass of Absinthe and they were tipsy and uncoordinated. Two glasses and they couldn't the difference between a horse and a writing desk. Three glasses and they were anybody's.

The Master was on his third glass when the Doctor found him. He was under a table in the dining room, trying to attach a food strainer to the table leg, using a shoe and some dental floss. He was also muttering, in between mouthfuls of Absinthe.

"Bugger it, this has gone all awry. My screwdriver has turned into a shoe. A size six loafer no less." He stared at the Doctor's legs, visible beneath the table. "Did you bring cake?"

The Doctor hunched down and held out his hand. "Give me the glass, you idiot."

He looked around. "Any idiots present, give him your glass!"

"I never thought I'd see the Master do anything as silly as drinking Absinthe. Where did you get it, anyway? I know for sure I don't have any on the TARDIS."

The Master waved his glass, slopping the milky drink on his hand. "On the planet whose name I have mentally misplaced. I swapped the TARDIS for it. Better not go back there, you'll be arrested." He held up the shoe. "If this is your shoe, it's broken. It won't work and I want to fix the TARDIS, so please can I have a working shoe?"

The Doctor sad down and frowned. "Go back where?"

"To before, when loafers were really screwdrivers in an alternate dimension, and there was a Gallifrey I could visit and scheme about. We can go back there if I can just fix this bloody TARDIS." His chin quivered and a single tear ran down his cheek. "I swear, if you get me back there I'll behave. I just want to sit in red grass and look at an ochre sky and be there, just once more. Not too much to ask, is it?"

The Doctor felt all of his nine hundred years. "We can't go back, Master. It's all gone." He held out his hand. "Come on, I'll take you to bed. And please don't cry, you'll get my TARDIS all upset. You know she doesn't like it when we cry."

He stopped crying but was fairly uncoordinated by the time the Doctor got him out from under the table. He didn't seem to want to give up the Absinthe or the shoe, but he finally gave up the glass and tucked the shoe against himself as the Doctor took him to the nearest bedroom. Which happened to be his.

The Master was still completely drunk, apparently, sobbing quietly and talking about a trip he once took to the Scarlet Lake one year when he was fifteen and how he went swimming naked, except for one shoe. Apparently shoes were deeply nostalgic under certain circumstances. The Doctor finally got him sitting on the bed and tried to lay him down. As he did, the Master's legs just stayed bent and went upwards, and it took a fair bit of effort to straighten him out. Laying there, fully dressed, clutching his shoe and sobbing, he was a pitiful sight.

"Try and get some sleep, in about eight hours it will wear off and you'll be back to your crabby, normally insane self again."

"No, no, no, don’t go and take your shoes!" The Doctor, about to turn away, looked back at face damp from tears, dark eyes brimming. "Stay here, if you leave me alone I'll turn into a fairy!"

"Too late," the Doctor muttered, stripping off his coat and shoes and sliding onto the bed next to his fellow Time Lord. "Just don't kill me in my sleep, all right? Oh dear, I'm going to regret this…"

He woke to the smell of alcohol and to the sense of being assaulted, albeit very gently. Somehow the cunning rogue had got him undressed while he slept and appeared to be trying to have sex with him. "I knew it! You weren't drunk at all! This was all a play to--oof!" The Master was gyrating on his groin in a way that seemed to break a number of physical laws and was probably banned on quite a few worlds for pure lewdness. "You're a lot heavier than you look, stop doing that, it hurts!"

"Does not, you fibber!" The Master swiveled himself over some invisible centre of gravity, his fingers tapping on certain nerve junctions that existed only in a Time Lord's groin just below the hipbones. "Tell me THAT hurts and your face will freeze the next time the wind changes."

The cunning bugger knew very well that if you stimulated a male Time Lord's genitals at the same time as tapping his cervical nerve junction in a three quarter beat, you could turn them into your absolute sex slave for exactly five minutes.

"Now tell me what you want, my abandoned sexual Gallifreyan toyboy!"

"Don't want. Nothing. Don't suck me. Oh no, said it!"

The Master grinned. "You are so perverted, imagine wanting to be given head by a sicko like me, taking advantage of my lunacy this way." He slid down and proceeded to do just that. He drooled and sucked, licking the Doctor's balls and mouthing his penis with teeth and tongue and mouth until the Doctor forgot every reason he had for denying the Master anything.

"Now, what will you give me if I suggest stopping doing this?" the Master asked from his place between the Doctor's spread legs.

"TARDIS key, new isomorphic control does, door to the secret storage room…"

"Secret storage room! I didn't know about that!"

"No. Secret. Don't. Stop!!!"

And he didn't. For five minutes he played the Doctor like a sexual instrument, taught him how he liked to be fellated, rode the Doctor until he groaned and bucked and came with a great deal of noise and the dislocation of a couple of joints, then stole his shoes and forced him to drink three glasses of Absinthe.

After that, the Doctor was anybody's.


End file.
